A match of old friends, boxing and something called a Tahitian Lovefest
Dripping with perspiration, he readies himself once more. Dressed only in his breeches, his boots, and two boxing gloves - one on both of his hands, Tom is involved in a boxing match.
He is swiftly knocked in the face.
"-- Mr Lefroy?"
The crowd emits with immediate cheers and jeers, shouts and excitement. Tom simply grins, looking at his opponent; they circle each other.
Another punch to the face sends him sprawling on the ground on his side. As he draws himself up again, he is met with a kiss from the nearest serving-wench.
"You can have more o'that for later!" she calls to him.
Tom, feeling rather at home here, raises his arms. "Huzzah!" he calls, working the crowd up even further. Linking arms with his opponent, he draws in closer, knocking a boxing glove squarely into the other man's kidney. Then clinging to him, he tries to attack again only to be pushed away with equal strength.
"Come on, then! Hit him!" someone from the crowd shouts. Tom obliges.
Someone shouts out a very loud, "Lefroy!" making him turn. Before he can turn his attention back to the fight, he is met with a very sound punch into the side of his head. It sends him careening towards the ground once more.
Lying on his back, spread-eagle, his favourite whore bends over him, her ample bosom nearly spilling over the edge of her corset. "Glass of wine for ye, sir?"
He smiles, dazed. "Madam."
She lifts him to his feet and he turns, one arm around her shoulders. He turns briefly to exchange good sportsmanship with his opponent; together they clap gloves and then they tend to their separate parties.
"Displaying skill to your advantage, I see," Henry Austen says, standing in the crowd.
"Like the sword, Austen," Tom replies, seeing him in his regal garb. He turns back to the crowd for one last time, giving them his farewells in the form of a smile and wave of his boxing glove, before he proceeds through the crowd accompanied by the whore. Henry leads the way out.
"How long before you have to go back to the Sticks?"
Pause. "A day."
"So soon?"
Henry nods. "Hmm. But one must cut some sort of a fortune in the militia."
"Especially when one can do something for the family."
"Yes."
"Still. Who is this sour-faced little virgin?" He looks off to where a slightly pudgy and terribly uncomfortable man is being bombarded by women from the tavern.
"Ah, you'll pardon me," Henry says leaning towards one of the women. "Mr Tom Lefroy, may I present John Warren. Joining me in Hampshire, my father is preparing us both for holy orders." He looks glumly at Tom.
"I-I understand you've visited Hampshire, Mr Lefroy."
"Last year."
"Long visit, was it?"
"Very long, Mr Warren. Almost three hours." He looks at him, amused, as Warren tries to rebutton his waistcoat with increasing difficulty.
---
"Oh, Mr Austen, you are so devilishly handsome, leaving for Hampshire - quickly, a kiss! A kiss!" Henry drawls excitedly - and drunkenly - as he follows Tom down the long corridor of steps. Several women follow after and he drops his mask, recieving his kisses. "Whoops!"
Tom goes on ahead, laughing. John Warren follows obediently behind. "So Tom, where should we go? Boxtel Gardens?"
"Been there."
"Good evening," a woman dressed in very little croons on his way up and Tom smiles.
"Oh, hello," he returns, pausing for a moment. Henry pulls at his sleeve to keep him focused.
"There's a Tahitian Lovefest on the -"
Tom bounds down the rest of the stairs before he can hear the rest. "Seen it."
"Crocksford?"
"Crocksford? Done that! Or should I say, it did me."
They reach the front entrance, and Henry puts on his cap.
"Wh-wh-what is a Tahitian Lovefest?" Warren asks, coming to join them in several stumbling steps.
Tom and Henry exchange glances, bending in mock-bows as though to say, 'After you.' John Warren proceeds, innocently unaware of what he is about to get into. The two more experienced men exchange another amused glance, and then laughing, follow.
He is swiftly knocked in the face.
"-- Mr Lefroy?"
The crowd emits with immediate cheers and jeers, shouts and excitement. Tom simply grins, looking at his opponent; they circle each other.
Another punch to the face sends him sprawling on the ground on his side. As he draws himself up again, he is met with a kiss from the nearest serving-wench.
"You can have more o'that for later!" she calls to him.
Tom, feeling rather at home here, raises his arms. "Huzzah!" he calls, working the crowd up even further. Linking arms with his opponent, he draws in closer, knocking a boxing glove squarely into the other man's kidney. Then clinging to him, he tries to attack again only to be pushed away with equal strength.
"Come on, then! Hit him!" someone from the crowd shouts. Tom obliges.
Someone shouts out a very loud, "Lefroy!" making him turn. Before he can turn his attention back to the fight, he is met with a very sound punch into the side of his head. It sends him careening towards the ground once more.
Lying on his back, spread-eagle, his favourite whore bends over him, her ample bosom nearly spilling over the edge of her corset. "Glass of wine for ye, sir?"
He smiles, dazed. "Madam."
She lifts him to his feet and he turns, one arm around her shoulders. He turns briefly to exchange good sportsmanship with his opponent; together they clap gloves and then they tend to their separate parties.
"Displaying skill to your advantage, I see," Henry Austen says, standing in the crowd.
"Like the sword, Austen," Tom replies, seeing him in his regal garb. He turns back to the crowd for one last time, giving them his farewells in the form of a smile and wave of his boxing glove, before he proceeds through the crowd accompanied by the whore. Henry leads the way out.
"How long before you have to go back to the Sticks?"
Pause. "A day."
"So soon?"
Henry nods. "Hmm. But one must cut some sort of a fortune in the militia."
"Especially when one can do something for the family."
"Yes."
"Still. Who is this sour-faced little virgin?" He looks off to where a slightly pudgy and terribly uncomfortable man is being bombarded by women from the tavern.
"Ah, you'll pardon me," Henry says leaning towards one of the women. "Mr Tom Lefroy, may I present John Warren. Joining me in Hampshire, my father is preparing us both for holy orders." He looks glumly at Tom.
"I-I understand you've visited Hampshire, Mr Lefroy."
"Last year."
"Long visit, was it?"
"Very long, Mr Warren. Almost three hours." He looks at him, amused, as Warren tries to rebutton his waistcoat with increasing difficulty.
---
"Oh, Mr Austen, you are so devilishly handsome, leaving for Hampshire - quickly, a kiss! A kiss!" Henry drawls excitedly - and drunkenly - as he follows Tom down the long corridor of steps. Several women follow after and he drops his mask, recieving his kisses. "Whoops!"
Tom goes on ahead, laughing. John Warren follows obediently behind. "So Tom, where should we go? Boxtel Gardens?"
"Been there."
"Good evening," a woman dressed in very little croons on his way up and Tom smiles.
"Oh, hello," he returns, pausing for a moment. Henry pulls at his sleeve to keep him focused.
"There's a Tahitian Lovefest on the -"
Tom bounds down the rest of the stairs before he can hear the rest. "Seen it."
"Crocksford?"
"Crocksford? Done that! Or should I say, it did me."
They reach the front entrance, and Henry puts on his cap.
"Wh-wh-what is a Tahitian Lovefest?" Warren asks, coming to join them in several stumbling steps.
Tom and Henry exchange glances, bending in mock-bows as though to say, 'After you.' John Warren proceeds, innocently unaware of what he is about to get into. The two more experienced men exchange another amused glance, and then laughing, follow.